The Don and His Mafia Princess: Book Two of The Costanzo Series - Standalone

CHAPTER 34

ANDREA

Once we arrive at the club, Emily and I make a beeline for the bar, eager to kick off our night with a few shots. The alcohol burns pleasantly as it goes down, and I can already feel the welcome warmth spreading through my veins, loosening my limbs and quieting the ache in my chest.

My mind flashes briefly to the devastating actions of my father earlier, his lack of remorse in his eyes as he crushed my feelings. But I forcefully push those thoughts aside, determined to lose myself in the pulsing beat of the music and the buzz of the liquor. Right now is about forgetting, about drowning my sorrows until the sharp edges of my heartbreak are blurred and numbed.

"Do you want to dance?" Emily shouts, her voice barely carrying over the pulsing beat and raucous chatter of the packed club. Her eyes, though glassy from the tequila, still hold shadows of pain from her earlier conversation with Santiago.

"Yes," I yell back, tossing back one last shot for liquid courage before allowing her to pull me onto the dance floor.

We find a spot in the writhing mass of bodies, and I let the rhythm wash over me, swaying my hips in time with the thumping bass. As I lose myself in the music, my thoughts drift unbidden to Stefano. I can practically feel the heat of his possessive gaze on me, hear the low growl of his voice in my ear warning that my body is for his eyes only as I dance to the beat. His touch, his scent, his presence—everything about him consumes me, even when he's not around. The memory of his hands on my skin sends a shiver down my spine, making it impossible to fully escape into the music and the moment.

A pang of longing lances through me, piercing through the haze of alcohol. God, I miss him so much it hurts. Impulsively, I fish my phone out of my purse and dial his number with clumsy fingers, desperate to hear his voice, to feel some semblance of closeness. But the call goes straight to voicemail, his phone apparently switched off.

Disappointment crashes over me, but I try again anyway, irrationally hoping this time will be different. When I'm once more met with his recorded greeting, I sigh in resignation and slip the phone back into my bag. I'll just have to try him again later.

For now, I let the music pull me back in, spinning and shimmying with abandon. Just as I start to lose myself in the beat, a pair of hands clasp around my waist, sending a chill down my spine. My body stiffens instinctively at the uninvited touch, and I feel the man's hot breath on the back of my neck as he pulls me closer.

"Sorry, not interested," I say as firmly as I can manage, trying to remove his hand and put some distance between us. But his grip only tightens, his fingers digging into my hips possessively.

"Why, baby Girl, I wanna dance with you," he says, whispering into my ears, and I freeze. My body goes rigid, every muscle locking up as the words "baby girl" slither into my ear. That phrase, spoken in a different time and place, sends icy tendrils of dread curling through my veins.

My body goes rigid, every muscle locking up as the words "baby girl" slither into my ear. That phrase, spoken in a different time and place, sends icy tendrils of dread curling through my veins.

The pulsing beat of the music fades away, replaced by a roaring static in my head. Those two innocuous words yank me out of the present, pitching me back into a nightmare I've tried so hard to escape. Phantom hands paw at my skin, and I shudder, bile rising in the back of my throat.

The stranger's body is still pressed against mine, but I've lost all sense of my surroundings, of time itself. The pulsing beat of the club music fades into a distant hum as the edges of my vision blur. My heart pounds against my ribcage, a frantic drumbeat of rising panic. Sweat beads on my forehead, cold and clammy against my flushed skin.